Hold on to what you have, Theo, my boy, brother whom I love, I long so fervently for the goal you know of, but how can I attain it? If only everything were already behind me, as it is behind Father, but it takes so much hard work to become a Christian labourer and a preacher of the Gospel and a sower of the Word. You see, Father can count his religious services and Bible readings and visits to the sick and the poor and his written sermons by the thousand, and yet he does not look back, but carries on doing good.
Cast your eye up on high and ask that it be granted to me, as I ask it for you. May He grant your heart’s desire, He who knows us better than we know ourselves, and is above prayer and above thought, since His ways are higher than our ways and His thoughts higher than our thoughts, as high as Heaven is above earth. And may the thought of Christ as a Comforter and of God as a lofty dwelling be with you.
Best wishes on your journey, write soon and accept a handshake in my thoughts. Goodbye, and believe me, always,
Your loving brother
Vincent
I hope Father will soon be better. Try to be in Etten for Easter, it will be so good to be together again.
It may be said of many things in the past, and also of what you have been through: ‘Thou shalt find it after many days.’
A week earlier he had written, ‘I hope and believe that my life will be changed and that my longing for Him will be satisfied.’ His family was far from happy - one of his sisters said he was ‘groggy with piety’.
Amsterdam
Van Gogh’s desire to become a clergyman finally persuaded him to move to Amsterdam in May and there, under the vigilant eye of his uncle, the Reverend J. P. Stricker, to prepare for the state examination he had to pass before he could study theology. He tackled Latin and Greek with gusto under the guidance of Dr M. B. Mendes da Costa and again attended as many sermons as he could from dawn to dusk every Sunday.
Amsterdam, with its picturesque harbours and canals, reminded him both of Ramsgate and of Rembrandt’s etchings. The reproductions on the walls of his room showed that his love of God was matched by his love of art.
95 [D]
Amsterdam, 19 May 1877
My dear Theo,
What a fine day we spent together, one we shall not easily forget. I want to make sure you find a letter on your return from Etten. You no doubt had a good time at home too, so write soon and tell me how you spent the day.
I am enclosing something for your portfolio, viz. a lithograph after J. Maris, which might well be called A Poor Man in the Kingdom of God, and a lith. after Mollinger - have you ever seen it before? I have not. At a Jewish bookseller’s, where I buy all the Latin and Greek books I need, I had the chance of picking prints cheaply from a large batch, 13 pictures for 70 cents. I thought I would take a few for my little room, to give it some atmosphere, which is needed if I am to get new ideas and freshen my mind.
I will tell you what they are, so that you can have some idea of what it all looks like now and what I have hanging up. I after Jamin (which is also hanging in your room), one after M. Maris: that little boy going to school. 5 pictures after Bosboom. Van der Maaten, Funeral Procession in the Cornfields. Israels, a poor man on a snowy winter road, and Ostade, Studio. Then Alleb6 as well, a little old woman on a winter morning fetching hot water and coals with the snow lying on the streets - I sent that one to Cor for his birthday. The Jewish bookseller still had a great many more excellent ones, but I cannot afford any more, and though I do hang up one or two things I am not, after all, making a collection.
Yesterday Uncle Cor sent me a batch of old paper, like the sheet I’m using to write to you, won’t it be wonderful for working on? There’s a lot of work to do already and it isn’t easy, but with steadfastness one should get used to it. I hope to keep in mind the ivy ‘which stealeth on though he wears no wings’1; as the ivy climbs along the walls, so must the pen along the paper.
Every day I do some walking. Recently I went through a very pleasant district - when I walked down the Buitenkant to the Dutch railway station one could see men working there & alongside the IJ2 with sand carts - and went along all sorts of little narrow streets with gardens full of ivy. It had a feel of Ramsgate about it. At the station I turned left, where most of the windmills are, on to a road along a canal with elm trees. Everything there reminds one of Rembrandt’s etchings.
One of these days I shall make a start with Streckfuss’s Algemene Geschiedenis,3 or rather I have started it already. It isn’t easy, but I certainly hope that taking it one step at a time and doing the best one can will pay off. But it will take time-many testify to that, and not just Corot alone: ‘Il n’a fallu pour cela que quarante ans de travail, de pensée et d’attention.’4 The work of men such as Father, the Rev. Mr Keller van Hoorn, Uncle Strieker and so many others requires a great deal of study, and the same is true of painting. And a man may well ask himself: how shall I ever manage that?
For one’s own work, thoughts and observation are not enough, we need the comfort and blessing and guidance of a higher power, and that is something anyone who is at all serious and who longs to lift up his soul to the light is sure to recognize and experience. Pining for God works like leaven on dough. May it also prove to be true in the story of both our lives.
Let us just believe in God and, clinging to that belief, confide in Him:
God said: Set there on rock and mountain,
this in eternal writ,
Let all who there behold it
Read what it was He said:
One day hard rock will crumble
The greatest mount cave in,
Yet My covenant with you
In truth it wavers not.
(Evangelical Hymns 188: 1–2)
Who but the good Lord leaves to care
And trusts in Him in direst need,
Is safe and shelteréd in Him,
Is godly, marvellously spared,
Who but in God on high does trust,
Cannot have built on sand.
(Evangelical Hymns 194:1)
Doing what needs to be done, and, if we are thrust in the right direction and, as it were, a door is opened for us, proceeding in that direction, we may acquire something of the old faith which God pours into many a heart, into that of the simple no less than into that of the great, into that of Aertsen no less than into that of Father or Uncle Jan or Uncle Cor - the same also happened to Rembrandt, Millet, Bosboom and who knows how many others, indeed, we can discover it in greater or lesser measure in almost everyone, or at least traces of it. He is not far from any of us.
Is Mrs Tersteeg still keeping well and have you been round to see Mauve yet? Keep your spirits up, as you are no doubt doing, good times may be in store for us, if God spares us and bestows His blessing on what we do.
Will you ever be joining me in some little church or other? God grant that you may, and I believe that He will grant it. Meanwhile, let us be grateful for our ordinary lives - if nothing out of the ordinary ever happens to us, and the only thing we know is a good prayer, let us then pray it, as Father once prayed on a New Year’s Eve, when it was bitterly cold and the winter not easy for anybody, our own family included. That prayer came from the depths of his heart: ‘Bind us, o Lord, closely to one another and let our Love for Thee strengthen these bonds ever more, preserve us from all evil, above all from the evil of sin. Father, we do not pray Thee to deliver us from the world, but to preserve us from evil. Preserve us from too much self-reproach. Grant us favour in the eyes of those to whom we are most closely bound and in the eyes of those who shall come after us.’
When I see a painting by Ruysdael, Van Goyen, Bosboom, or so many others, I am reminded again and again of the words, ‘As sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing’ - of wee-moed.5
Will you come to my little study again some Sunday and shall we go together to the little church in Scheveningen again? I hope so.
Regards to everyone at your place and accept a handshake in my thoughts from
&nb
sp; Your very loving brother
Vincent
Yesterday I saw a portrait of Michelet, looked at it carefully and thought of ‘sa vie d’encre et de papier’.6 I am tired at night and find it difficult to get up as early as I would like, but that will pass and I trust I shall be able to force myself to do it.
I hope to be at Uncle Stricker’s on Whit Monday afternoon and evening.
120 [D]
Amsterdam, 3 March 1878
My dear Theo,
It is time to write to you again. How I should have liked to be with you today. It is such lovely weather here and one has the feeling that spring is on its way. The lark can probably already be heard in the country, but that’s unlikely to happen in the city, unless one can detect its call in the voice of some old clergyman, whose words come from a heart that’s in tune with the lark’s.
Heard the Rev. Mr Laurillard preaching this morning in the Oudezijde Chapel. Uncle Stricker was at church as well and I had coffee with him. Uncle Jan had gone to the Nieuwe Diep this morning, but is back again now. Then to a Sunday School in the Barndesteeg and then walked around the outer embankments and, in passing, called in on three Roman Catholic churches.
Went round to see Vos last night, who is none too well. It was such a sad sight to find him sitting there moodily in front of the window, hollow-eyed and with his feet on a stove - he is afflicted with cold feet. Kee too is so pale and looks so tired. Went on from them to Uncle Cor’s. He has had the salon repapered and a new grey carpet laid on the floor. Now those beautiful bookcases with the complete Gazette des Beaux Arts, etc., in their red bindings, stand out better than before. Uncle told me that Daubigny had died. I freely confess that I was downcast when I heard the news, just as I was when I heard that Brion had died (his Bénédicité hangs in my room), because the work of such men, if it is understood, touches us more deeply than one realizes. It must be good to die in the knowledge that one has done some truthful work and to know that, as a result, one will live on in the memory of at least a few and leave a good example for those who come after. A work that is good may not last for ever, but the thought expressed by it will, and the work itself will surely survive for a very long time, and those who come later can do no better than follow in the footsteps of such predecessors and copy their example.
Speaking of good works, would you like to have a Flemish Imitation of Christ? I hope to send it to you shortly, in a small book which, if need be, can easily be slipped into the pocket.
When Uncle told me about Daubigny, I thought of his etchings after Ruysdael (Le buisson and Le coup de soleil), and Uncle has promised to get hold of them, as he did not know them at all.
Was at the Rev. Mr Gagnebin’s last Monday night and met his wife and daughter as well and also went to his study, where we talked until about 11 o’clock. He told me, amongst other things, ‘Qu’à certains temps de sa vie il s’etait bien trouvé en s’oubliant entiérement et en se jetant dans le travail sans arriére pensee, qu’alors il avait fait beaucoup et s’etait retrouv6 plus tard fortine et avancé dans ce qu’il s’était propose et éclaire dans l’esprit. Que cependant, même maintenant, personne n’en savait rien combien ses sermons lui coûtaient de peine.’1
Have worked my way through the history of the Netherlands and have done an abstract of 30 closely written pages. (I was pleased to come across the battle of Waterloo and the 10-day campaign in it once again.) Do you know that Rochussen once painted the siege of Leyden? I mean the picture owned by Mr De Vos. Am now also working on general hist.
I am looking forward more than a little to your coming here again. Do try your best to stay as long as possible. And if you can, write again soon, for you know how much pleasure your letters always give me.
Have you read anything good lately? Be sure to get hold of the works of George Eliot somehow, you won’t be sorry if you do, Adam Bede, Silas Marner, Felix Holt, Romola (the life of Savonarola), Scenes from Clerical Life. You will remember that we gave the 3 underlined to Father for his birthday last year. When I have time for reading again, I shall reread them once more. Both the Rev. Mr McFarlane and Adler spoke to me about them, that is, they advised me to read them.
Wrote to Harry Gladwell this week, as he had not replied to my last letter and I so wanted to know what he was doing and what he was planning to do. I am still hoping he will become a clergyman, and if he does he will do a good job, of that I am certain. But it won’t be an easy thing for him to achieve.
Did you ever see an original etching by Millet of a man wheeling a barrow of manure into a garden on a day like today, in early spring? And remember as well that he made an etching, ‘Les becheurs’. If you ever do come across it you are unlikely to forget it in a hurry. I was thinking of the first this morning when Uncle Stricker was looking for texts in which the word manure, or dung, appears, e.g., ‘Let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it’. Made a list recently of all the pictures by Brion I could remember. When you come here, you must tell me whether I have forgotten many of them. Lord, keep my memory green!2 That is something one should say over and over again.
Last Sunday went to see Cousin Vrijdag at the timber yards. There are still 7 children at home, a pleasant little bunch, most of them very young. Could you perhaps give me notice somewhat in advance of your arrival? Then I can do some of my work beforehand so that we’ll have more time to spend together. Goodbye, a handshake in my thoughts, and believe me,
Your loving brother
Vincent
Uncle Jan sends you his regards.
Remember me to everyone at your house.
121 [D]
Amsterdam, 3 April 1878
I have been thinking about what we were discussing, and the saying sprang to mind: ‘Nous sommes aujourd’hui ce que nous 6tions hier.’1 That does not mean that one must stand still and may not try to improve oneself; on the contrary, it is a compelling reason for doing so and for being glad to do so. But to be true to the saying, one must not backslide, and once one has started to look at things freely and openly one must not face about or stray.
Those who said ‘nous sommes aujourd’hui ce que nous étions hier’ were honnêtes hommes,2 as is apparent from the constitution they drew up, which will remain for all time and of which it has been well said that it was written ‘avec le rayon d’en haut et d’un doigt de feu’.3
It is a good thing to be an ‘honnête homme’ and to try increasingly to be one, partly and wholly, and one does well to understand that this entails being an ‘homme intérieur et spirituel’.4
He who is firmly convinced he is one of their band will always go about his business quietly and calmly, never doubting that all must end well. There once was a man who went to church and asked, ‘Can it be that my ardour has deceived me, that I have taken a wrong turning and managed things badly? Oh, if only I could be rid of this doubt and know for certain I shall come out victorious and succeed in the end.’ And then a voice answered him, ‘And if you were certain, what would you do then? Act now as if you were certain and you will not be disappointed.’ Then the man went on his way, not unbelieving but believing, and returned to his work no longer doubting or wavering.
As for being an ‘homme interieur et spirituel’ might one not be able to develop into one through knowledge of history in general and of certain individuals from all ages in particular, from the history of the Bible to that of the Revolution and from the Odyssey to the books of Dickens and Michelet? And could we not learn something from the work of such men as Rembrandt or from Breton’s Mauvaises herbes or Millet’s Les heures de la journée, Le bénédicité by de Groux or Brion or Le conscrit by de Groux (or else by Conscience) or his Apothecaire or Les grands chenes by Dupre, or even from Michel’s mills and sandy plains?
It is by continually holding fast to these thoughts and deeds that we are filled with a good leaven at the last, that of being sorrowful yet alway rejoicing, which will become apparent when our lives have come to fruition, bearing the
fruits of good works.
Le rayon d’en haut does not always shine upon us and may well be hidden behind clouds, but without that light a man cannot live and is worth nothing and can do no good, and those who claim that man can live without faith in that higher light and need not trouble to acquire it, are sure to have their hopes dashed.
We have talked a good deal about our duty and how we may attain the right goal, and we have properly concluded that our first objective must be to find a specific position and a profession to which we can wholly devote ourselves. And I believe that we also agreed on this point, viz. that one must pay particular attention to the end, and that a victory gained after a whole life of work and effort is better than one gained with greater dispatch.
Anyone who leads an upright life and experiences real difficulty and disappointment and yet is not crushed by them is worth more than one for whom everything has always been plain sailing and who has known nothing but relative prosperity. For who are the most obviously superior of us? Those who merit the words, ‘Laboureurs, votre vie est triste, laboureurs, vous souffrez dans la vie, laboureurs, vous êtes bienheureux’.5 It is they who bear the marks of ‘toute une vie de lutte et de travail soutenu sans flêchir jamais’.6 It is right to try to become like that. So we go on our way ‘undefessi favente Deo’.7
As for me, I must become a good preacher, who has something to say that is right and is of use to the world, and perhaps it is as well that I should spend a relatively long time on preparation and be securely confirmed in an unwavering faith before I am called to speak to others about it. (It is fitting that before one embarks upon that work, a treasure should be gathered up that others can enjoy.) Let us but go forth quietly, testing everything and holding fast to what is good, and trying all the time to learn more of what is useful and adds to our experience. Weemoed8 may be a good experience, provided we write it as two words: wee,9 which is in every man, each of us having reason enough, but it must be allied to moed,10 and the more the better, for it is good to be someone who never despairs.
The Letters of Vincent van Gogh Page 8
